


Unanticipated

by teh_gelfling



Series: Unfinished Business [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Mech Preg, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 11:18:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5826526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teh_gelfling/pseuds/teh_gelfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is an unfinished work and will probably never be completed, although I do pull this out from time to time to attempt work on it. Plotbunnies and muses are such fickle things.</p><p>If you feel like it, leave a comment or critique. I love knowing what my readers like and don't like about my stories.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Unanticipated

**Author's Note:**

> This is an unfinished work and will probably never be completed, although I do pull this out from time to time to attempt work on it. Plotbunnies and muses are such fickle things.
> 
> If you feel like it, leave a comment or critique. I love knowing what my readers like and don't like about my stories.

“ Ohhh, yesss. Just like that,” Ratchet moaned as silver lips closed around the head of his spike. Prowl's tongue swirled around the tip, prodding the small slit and licking up the transfluid that had leaked out. As he took more of the shaft into his mouth, he looked up at the medic's face, pleased to see the expression of pure rapture there.

Teeth scraped lightly over extension ridges and red hips bucked sharply. White hands gripped and held them firmly to the mesh surface of the berth as he continued to move over the thick spike. He hummed around it, the vibrations lighting up the ambulance's entire sensor net. A strangled “Prowl!” escaped—louder, he was sure, than his lover had intended, which only added to his own arousal.

His spike was fully pressurised, painfully constricted behind his panel, and only sheer, stubborn willpower kept it there. Not time, not yet. This was all about his lover right now. He swallowed around Ratchet's spike, drawing it deeper and pulling wanton moans from the mech sprawled before him.

“ Primus! Prowl!” the CMO shouted when his rod hit the back of the Praxian's intake, his lover's nasal ridge flush against his interface array. His arms pulled against the restraints the black and white had employed, wanting to touch, to hold that white helm in place and thrust into that hot orifice until he overloaded.

Prowl drew back, sucking hard, laving his tongue over every sensory node. Ratchet bucked and shuddered under the onslaught of sensation, charge jumping as the tactician bobbed over him. With a loud cry, the medic overloaded hard, spike throbbing as his transfluid flooded his lover's mouth.

Licking his lips, the Datsun moved up the white chassis, capturing the ambulance's mouth in a bruising kiss. Ratchet moaned as he tasted himself on Prowl's tongue.

Black plating slid aside with a quiet  _ snikt _ as the Praxian's spike was finally released. He cried out in relief and pleasure as his weeping shaft sprang erect, rubbing against red pelvic plating and leaving silvery smears of transfluid behind.

Ratchet rolled his hips and gasped when their erections rubbed together. Prowl growled and thrust his hips into the contact, biting into the medic's neck hard enough to draw a bead of energon. One white hand dropped below their shafts to tease Ratchet's valve, fingers slipping easily through the soaked opening. His thumb pressed down on the node between his lover's valve and the base of his spike and he revelled in the keen it wrenched from the CMO.

Prowl's fingers scissored within Ratchet, stretching his walls and preparing him to take his spike. It wasn't often that the tactician took the dominant role, and the white mech's valve was almost virgin tight. The medic emitted needy moans interspersed with "Primus!" and "Prowl!" and "Fragyesthere!", making the black and white smirk and add a third finger.

The Praxian teased his lover with his fingers until only incoherent sounds and half-words flowed from his vocaliser. Ratchet's optics were nearly black with his arousal, only a very faint glow about them, and he thrashed in his bonds as much as they would let him.

Prowl pressed the tip of his spike to the rim of the well-lubricated valve and slowly pushed in. The large head of his shaft squeezed through the tight opening and he moaned loudly. "Primus, Ratchet!" he grunted in the medic's audio, every word heavily laced with lust, "Feel so good!"

He rocked gently against the white chassis, gradually seating himself fully into that amazing well. He held there a moment, savouring the extremely pleasurable grip of the hot valve around him, until Ratchet shouted hoarsely, "Move, fragger!" and jerked his hips into Prowl's.

He started with long, smooth strokes, building charge slowly between them, knowing that it would drive the medic crazy with want. He refused to speed up his pace when Ratchet tried desperately to get him to move "faster, harder, Primus, PLEASE!"

All the while he murmured in the CMO's audio, when he wasn't making his own noises of pleasure. He took Ratchet to the brink of overload then paused in his movements, holding the ambulance there until the charge dissipated slightly. Then he withdrew almost completely from his valve.

Ratchet cried out at the loss, frustrated, though he knew that Prowl would never be so cruel as to just leave him like that. Not without damn good reason...

Then the tactician's spike rammed home, ripping screams of ecstasy from both mechs. The black and white now set a brutal rhythm, shaking the entire berth. A constant stream of shouts and moans issued from his vocaliser as the charge built higher and higher.

"Spark!" Ratchet grunted as his chest armour slid apart. "Give me your spark!"

The tempo barely slowed as he did as he was bidden, baring his spark and pressing it into the white-gold glow of the medic's. The immediate doubling of sensation and stark intimacy of the contact sent them spiralling together into a processor-shattering overload.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Slag, Ratch! Who ya been fraggin'? Think he'd frag me, too?" The black and white saboteur's grin split his face as he slid smoothly into the seat across from the medic. "Anyone that can make  _ you _ scream like that's gotta be a pit of a lay."

Ratchet glared at the TIC over the rim of his energon cube as he took a long pull. "Could you possibly be any louder, Jazz?"

The Porsche laughed, visor positively glittering with mischief. "I think th' question here, Ratch, is could  _ you _ ? I swore the entire  _ Ark _ heard ya last night. Couple'a mechs looked out their doors t'see what th' commotion was about."

"Primus...” Grey chevron impacted red palm. “Jazz, just leave me in peace, or what passes for peace around this asylum. Who my partners are is none of your business and never has been. Now get, before I find a compelling reason to drag your sorry aft into Medbay for that physical you keep dodging."

“ A'right, a'right. 'M goin'. If y'two ever lookin' f'r an extra mech, though...” he said with a lascivious grin.

Ratchet pulled a wrench out of subspace and brandished it threateningly. Jazz lifted black hands in surrender and disappeared out the door of the rec room, accompanied by the laughter of several mechs who'd heard the exchange.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ratchet dropped gracelessly onto his berth, exhausted beyond belief. Pulling triple shifts after a pitched battle was murder on the CMO, but as the medic in charge, he felt he'd had to stay until the last of the seriously injured had been stabilised. Prowl was one of those, having been caught in the line of fire of Soundwave's sonic cannon.

Tired as he was, he knew he wouldn't be able to recharge well until his lover regained consciousness. He lay for a while, staring at the ceiling, trying to abate the aching worry in his spark. It was almost a physical pain and he rubbed the armour over the spot absently.

He finally fell into a fitful recharge, images of the damage to the black and white running rampant through his processor. After the third time his recharge cycle aborted, the frustrated medic rose and left his quarters, heading for Medbay. If he couldn't rest, at least he could get something done.

Wheeljack tried to bully Ratchet back out as soon as he stepped through the doors. “You look like slag, Ratch. Go run through the washracks, get some energon and then recharge.”

A red hand batted away the well-meaning engineer. “I just came from recharge, 'Jack. It's not happening,” he grumped as he drew a cube from the energon dispenser. “I'm going to check on Prowl. That damage was really severe.”

The Lancia nodded soberly. “It was. We moved him to Unit 3 after you left.”

“ You kicked me out, you glitch.”

“ You weren't here, ergo, you left.” The vocal indicators on either side of his helm flashed an amused pink. “Anyway, make sure you drink that,” he pointed at the glowing cube in his friend's hand, “and don't stress your systems. He'll be okay, and he's got you to thank for it.”

“ Thanks, 'Jack. I'll see you later.” He gave a wan smile as he made his way through the main bay to the isolation units off a corridor at the back. Stopping at the second door on the right, he punched in his code to permit access to the room beyond.

He stepped through the portal and allowed the door to hiss closed and lock again behind him. Ratchet relaxed a fraction as the EM field of his lover and the soft, muted lighting of the room washed over him. He walked straight to the side of the berth Prowl lay on, listening to the steady beeps of the spark monitor and reading the displays of the various other machines plugged into the tactician as he did.

“ Primus, Prowl,” the medic breathed as his optics fell on the damage to the mech's chestplate. Much of it had been cleaned up or cut away, but it was still obvious he'd sustained life-threatening injuries.

Ratchet's spark twinged as he gazed at the Datsun and he rubbed at it as he set his energon cube down to pull a chair to the berthside. Sitting down, he picked up both his cube and a datapad detailing the damage and repairs completed thus far. The list of injuries was far longer, and the CMO knew it would be some time before the Praxian would be fit for duty again. He noted that there had been damage to Prowl's processor and memory core, but the extent couldn't be determined until the black and white regained consciousness.

At least his spark chamber integrity was back at full. They had almost lost him twice before they could replace the perforated panel. Ratchet didn't know what he would do if Prowl died. They weren't bonded, but it would still hurt. Badly. Even if he couldn't show it publicly.

Another twinge from his spark had the medic frowning. That was  _ not _ normal. A quick diagnostic told him that his spark-energy levels were in flux, but not much more than that. Downing the last of his energon, he dispersed the cube with a squeeze and rose from his seat.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“ 'Jack, I need your help.”

The engineer looked up from his datapad at the urgent tone. “Sure, Ratch. Something wrong with Prowl?”

“ No. Me.”

There was a wordless flash of vocal indicators as Wheeljack jumped to his feet. “You didn't get hit...?”

The ambulance shook his helm. “Just need you to confirm something for me. I can't see my own spark.” he turned and started walking, waving the other along, back to the isolation unit he'd just left.

“ Ratchet, I'm sure your spark is just fine,” the Lancia insisted uncomfortably as the door locked behind him. The medic turned to face his friend and triggered his chestplates open. “See? Perfectly normal and... Oh.”

“ That's what I thought.” He closed up his armour again, sealing away the white-gold glow of his spark.

Wheeljack was speechless for a breem, while the information processed. Excitement built in his EM field as he exclaimed, “Primus, Ratch! This is incredible! Ha! I can't wait to have a sparkling running around!”

The CMO harrumphed. “Well, I'm glad you're happy. This is no time to be raising a sparkling. We're at war, and with the state Prowl's in...”

“ Now, Ratchet. As you're a medic, I know you know what happens when two 'bots interface often enough then add sparks to the mix. Even the twins know that.” Sky blue optics crinkled facetiously.

“ Shut up, you. I had a ground. Apparently it malfunctioned.” A mock glower drew a laugh from the engineer. “It's not that I don't want a sparkling—Primus knows I do. It's just... this was totally unanticipated.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Prowl? Prowl, answer me." Ratchet stood over the medical berth that held the 2IC, watching the monitors and the mech alternately. All the readings showed that the black and white should be conscious, his optics were lit, but he wasn't responding to any visual or aural stimulation.

The medic placed a hand on a white shoulder and Prowl jumped. "Ratchet?" he asked loudly.

"Prowl! How are you feeling?" There was relief in his voice and posture and he was glad that no one else was in Medbay at the moment.

"Ratchet...?" The Praxian began to sit up and Ratchet slid an arm behind him to assist. "I know it's you. Why can't I see? And why aren't you talking to me?"

The CMO's arm dropped. "You can't see?" Shock slackened his expression. "You can't hear, either. Slag! What did we miss?" he muttered to himself. Diagnostics were run again, specifically on the aural and visual centres of his processor, and the ambulance got his answer.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Optimus, he's blind and deaf until I find a way to repair the damage or his self-repair manages to work it out. That sonic cannon of Soundwave's did a number on his processor as well as his body, and it's a miracle those are the only things wrong with him. All the physical damage, the bodywork, is repaired, but the only way to communicate with him is through a hardline connection. Even his radio is gone."

"I see." The Prime set his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers before his mouth. His optics were pale and drawn tight in the corners, worry and compassion in every line of his face.

"There is also the possibility that this is a permanent condition. Primus, I hope it's not..." Ratchet leaned back in his chair and scrubbed a red hand over his faceplate. "He's already nagging me to let him get back to work. Driving First Aid to distraction with his constant experiments in using his doorwings to help him sense everything around him so he can get around without help.

"Pit, did you know I had to chase him down just this morning because he'd escaped Medbay? I found him halfway to his office."

Optimus smiled slightly. "Yes, that sounds like our Prowl. Ratchet, is there anything stopping him from connecting to his terminal and working like that? It would get him out of your plating and give him something useful to do."

"No, and I think it's a great idea. He will need help, though. While he can navigate rooms and corridors well enough using his doorwing sensors, he'd never be able to tell where to jack into the computer."

"That will be no problem. I'm certain that many mechs would be quite willing to help out. We've all been very worried." The cobalt optics crinkled at the corners as the Prime smiled. "I will put out the word that I'm looking for volunteers. Thank you, Ratchet, for everything you've done. For Prowl, and for all of us.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Good evening, Ratchet. I will be finished in a breem."

The medic smirked. "Getting better." The black and white's doorwings hadn't so much as twitched when he'd approached.

Prowl finished up his work and unplugged his datacable from the computer terminal, rolling it back into its compartment. "I'm not sure it's a matter of 'getting better.' This is merely the time you always come to guide me to the rec room to refuel. You are becoming... predictable," he said, silver lips quirking as the final word emerged in a mock-disgusted tone.

"Oh, well, Primus forbid  _ that _ happen.  _ Predictable _ . Hunh." He leaned on the doorframe as the tactician rose and approached him, doorwings flared wide to capture all the sensory information they could to compensate for his lack of vision. "I'll have to work on that, won't I?"

"Indeed." Prowl reached out hesitantly, not entirely trusting his sensor net yet, and wrapped his hand around Ratchet's, giving a sharp tug. "Perhaps," he whispered huskily, "I can help." His free hand rose to the medic's face, cupping his cheek and running the white thumb over his features, mapping them. He pulled Ratchet into an insistent kiss, tongue probing for entrance.

Caught by surprise, the ambulance responded eagerly for a moment, then gently pushed the Datsun away. "Not now."

"Why not?"

"Someone might see. The door's open."

Prowl snorted delicately. "Then close it. Problem solved." He moved close again, grabbing red hips and pulling them to his.

Ratchet extricated himself from the black and white's grip. "Let's just go refuel."

The SIC frowned. "Close the door, please, Ratchet. I believe we need to talk." The medic complied warily, unsure what this conversation would hold.

"You've been unusually distant recently--since I was injured, in fact. You decline every invitation to stay with me. You come around to take me for energon, but conversation feels forced and awkward most times. I have overlooked it so far, but I cannot continue in this manner. The only logical conclusion I have come to is that you no longer wish to continue our relationship." Doorwings twitched in that way Ratchet knew meant the mech was deeply hurt, though his face remained impassive. "Is that the case?"

While the CMO usually had a response for everything, this time he was speechless. His mouth opened, then snapped shut before sound could emerge. His spark clenched at the thought of losing the tactician, but he couldn't make his vocaliser work. Distress coloured his EM field and Prowl immediately picked up on it and interpreted it in the most negative way possible.

"I see." His voice was frigid. "I believe I can make my own way to the rec room. I will not burden you with my presence more than necessary."

As the SIC stalked past, Ratchet snaked out a hand, catching him by the wrist and bringing him close. "No." He cycled his vocoder to rid it of the static that had laced his voice. "No," he repeated, stronger and louder. "That's not what I want. Primus, Prowl! I don't want to lose you. I..." His voice hitched again and he offlined his optics, trying to compose himself.

"There's something I have to tell you, and the timing never felt right. I doubt this is the right time, either, but I have to get it out."

Prowl's full attention focussed on him, almost intimidating in its intensity despite the fact that he couldn't actually see. "Go on."

"I've kindled."

The tactician was silent for a long breem, then another. Ratchet was beginning to worry he'd suffered a glitch, but then his optics brightened and a look of wonderment came over his face. "You're sparked!?"

The medic nodded, then belatedly remembered the Praxian couldn't see the gesture and simply said, "Yes."

"Ratchet! Why didn't you tell me sooner?" He pulled his lover into a tight embrace and kissed him softly, sweetly. "How long?" he asked when it ended.

"I found out just after that battle while you were still in stasis. And then we've been so busy with your recovery..."

An optic ridge rose. "I highly doubt it just slipped your mind."

"Hardly," the ambulance snorted. "Like I said, it never seemed the right time to say anything. And when it did, something would interrupt."

A nod of the white helm. "Now answer my other question."

"About nineteen weeks. Give or take." His fuel tank gurgled. "Can we go get some energon now, or do you want to interrogate me further?"

A quiet laugh escaped the Datsun. "Of course, let's go. Far be it from me to keep a carrier from his fuel."

"Damn straight."

~*~*~*~*~*~

“ -chet. Ratchet.”

The CMO's optics flickered online at the gentle touch to his back. He raised his helm from the desk with a low groan and glanced up at the source of the voice. “Aid,” he greeted, voice gravelly.

With a half-amused, half-exasperated shake of his helm, the junior medic chuffed in a remarkably accurate imitation of his mentor. “With all due respect, sir, get out of here. Your shift ended half a joor ago.” He softened his words with an affectionate pulse of his EM field.

“ Kicking me out of my medbay?”

“ It's  _ my _ medbay this shift,” First Aid said, conviction in his voice and field. “Now go on. I'm comming Prowl that you're on your way.”

Ratchet's spark gave a little jump at the mention of his lover. The newspark he carried thrilled at the emotion and he had to smile, pressing gentle red fingers to the glass of his windscreen. As the unfettered joy of the newspark faded, his thoughts of the tactician turned more intimate. Memories of the feel of Prowl's lips on his own, the way the Datsun looked as he drove Ratchet to overload.

The Protectobot registered the change in the elder medic's field with a jolt. His systems responded with shocking swiftness, pinging ready in his HUD. “Ratchet, please, just go already. Prowl's waiting.” He quickly retreated from the office.

With a wry smirk, the senior medic shut down his terminal and left Medbay. He knew exactly the effect an aroused carrier had on other mecha, and he tried to avoid the company of others when it happened.

“ Hi, Ratchet!” Bluestreak chirped, appearing beside him and matching pace.

The ambulance barely managed to avoid jumping right out of his armour. “Bluestreak! Primus!”

The grey mech looked contrite. “Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Hey, how's the sparkling? I can't wait to see him. I wonder what he'll look like. Will he look more like you, or will he look like his sire?” He turned earnest baby blue optics on Ratchet. “Do you think I'll ever be a carrier? What's it like? I can't imagine having a newspark growing in me. Wow. Just the idea...”

“ Sparkling's fine, Blue,” he said tersely, trying to discourage the young mech's presence. The last thing he needed was an amorous youngling chasing him.

Grey doorwings swept down and back. “Are you mad at me? I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry. Really, Ratchet.”

The medic sighed and brushed his energy field up against the gunner's, judging his emotional state. Guilt and confusion, genuine interest in the sparkling, longing. No arousal, no intimate interest in him at all. “No, Blue,” he said, pulsing affection through his field. “I misjudged your intentions.”

“ How could--  _ Oh. _ You're...  _ Oh... _ ”  _ There _ was the reaction Ratchet had been expecting. Optics darkened dramatically and vents hitched sharply as a strong ripple of lust radiated out to the medic. The hungry expression on the young mech's face was nearly identical to the one Prowl wore when the black and white was going to pounce the medic and Ratchet's systems burned, valve clenching in anticipation.

“ I need to go,” Bluestreak rasped, then shuddered, trying to dampen his reaction. “Primus, I need to  _ go _ .” As he began to step back, the white mech's carrier programming kicked in.

His hand snagged the gunner's upper arm and pulled, crushing their lips together in a fierce kiss. The Praxian's optics flew wide and he stiffened, then Ratchet licked at his lips and he gave in with a tiny moan, kissing back fervently and groping the medic's red aft. Crimson fingers dug into door hinges, wrenching a loud cry from the grey mech.

Ratchet moaned as black fingers traced traced the seams of his heated interface panel. Bluestreak palmed the scorching metal and it snapped aside, revealing the medic's fully—painfully—pressurised spike, slick with lubricants and dribbling transfluid. The gunner dropped to his knees and licked the tip, taking the entire head into his mouth. The medic shouted and bucked, forcing more of his length into that warm, moist cavern.

The young Praxian gagged, throat tubing squeezing around the invading member, trying to expel it. Overtaken by his desire, Ratchet continued to thrust, holding Bluestreak's helm in place with a firm hand. Charge crackled visibly over the medic's frame, tightness banding his pelvic span. Heat pooled at the base of his spike with each thrust until it erupted volcanically, fluids spilling over, sliding thickly down the gunner's intake.

Shuddering, Ratchet pulled his still-hard shaft from Blue's mouth and wrenched the mech to his feet. He captured the other's lips possessively, thrusting his tongue in, tasting himself on the Datsun's. He shoved the grey doorwinger up against the wall, catching and pinning his wrists to either side of his helm.

“ Ratchet! Let Bluestreak go.” Hands closed on the medic's, prying them away.

“ P-Prowl! I—!”

“You’re okay? He didn’t force you?”

“F-fine. Surprised me, really, but that’s it.”

A sharp nod. “Go, Blue. Unless you have a desire to participate again,” the tactician said as he turned the CMO and palmed the stiff spike.

Dim, lust-filled optics locked on that white hand working Ratchet's rod and watched avidly as the SIC's own spike emerged only to plunge deeply into the white mech's waiting valve. Bluestreak moaned along with the ambulance and his panel opened with a click. He moved closer to the pair, stroking Prowl's near doorwing and Ratchet's side, fingers delving into transformation seams in the white armour. The tactician's rhythm faltered with the extra sensory input, then picked up again.

The younger mech moved around behind Ratchet and pressed up against him, kissing his audios and neck. His erection prodded the medic's aft, and the ambulance arched back into him with a low cry. Prowl's hand locked with the gunner's, doorwings twitching a quick question. At Bluestreak's quick, “Oh,  _ yes _ ,” the tactician hooked his hands under both of the CMO's knees and lifted, the grey mech helping to bear Ratchet's weight.

Ratchet yelped as his feet left the deck, shifting him on Prowl's spike. His upper body fell against the mech behind him, his helm lolling on the grey shoulder. Another spike pushed at his entrance and he whimpered.

“ Gently, Bluestreak,” he heard Prowl say as the head of the gunner's shaft pressed inside slowly, the stretch almost unbearable.

Blue bit down hard on his lower lip, a sharp gasp escaping at the exquisite pressure surrounding him, trying hard to hold himself in check. It proved an impossible task with Ratchet writhing on the pair, sobs of pleasure and incoherent pleas falling from his lips. Each movement seated Blue deeper and more firmly aside Prowl within that sopping, clenching valve.

Overload raced through Ratchet. Lubricant gushed over the spikes in his valve, running down both Datsuns' arrays, puddling on the deck. Then Prowl began to thrust, spike rubbing wonderfully against Bluestreak's. The two Praxians fell into a rhythm; Prowl would thrust in and Blue would retreat. The constant stimulation kept Ratchet in a continuous overload loop, the medic unable to do more than hold on to his lovers in a death grip and scream out his pleasure until his vocaliser gave out.

“ Ahh... Oh, Prowl... I'm... Oh, Primus! Prowl! Ratch!” With one last thrust, Bluestreak's frame locked up as climax swept him up and plunged him headlong over the edge. Hot transfluid washed thickly over sensor nodes on the tactician's spike and he overloaded violently, biting down on the medic's collar faring hard enough to leave marks.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Prowl woke abruptly, unable to ascertain immediately where he was. He was on a berth, but that's all he could tell. He lay flat on his back with his arms stretched above his helm, held in place with some form of restraints. The sensors on his wings were severely muffled, practically useless, pinned to the padding as they were.

The intimately familiar scent of interfacing lubricants tickled his nose as he registered that his array was exposed. Warm air puffed across his hardware, though with no touches following, it was impossible to know if the mech between his legs was Ratchet or Bluestreak. Or, Primus forbid, some other mech who'd decided to take advantage.

“ Ratchet...?” the tactician asked uncertainly as the warm vents returned. A husky chuckle sounded from the vicinity of his hips, then a hot, wet tongue lapped at the tip of his spike, still in its housing. The mech's highly aroused EM field mingled with his own, confirming that it was indeed the medic.

“ Mm... want you.”

“ I'm at your mercy.” He tugged lightly at his bonds. “Quite literally.”

Another tongue traced a line along his chevron and Prowl started. A wave of amusement rolled over him along with the other mech's field, carrying with it the distinct sense of Bluestreak.

“ You're really sexy all tied up, Prowl. I mean, you're sexy anyway, but this is... wow.” He giggled even as his engine revved.

“ Bluestreak! Ratchet, what is going on?”

“ Relax, Lover. Blue won't participate if you don't want it. Right?” Ratchet pressed a finger into Prowl's valve carefully, wiggling it around and spreading the thin lubricant beginning to coat the walls.

“ Sure. I mean, I'll leave right now if you want me to. Won't say a word to anybody, either, I swear.” His tongue traced another line over the bright red metal of Prowl's chevron, pulling a quiet moan and a light shudder from him.

Ratchet's field flared brightly as Prowl's spike extended and he took it into his mouth. Prowl cried out in pleasure, then moaned again as Bluestreak caught his mouth in an upside-down kiss.

With the sensors in his doorwings muffled and his lack of vision, every touch was magnified. Each brush of lips against his made him shiver, each pull of Ratchet's mouth on his spike nearly sent him over the edge. Someone's hand brushed against the exposed side of a wing, and he did overload then, charged transfluid spurting down the medic's intake. He vaguely felt the rumbling purr as Ratchet swallowed around him.

“ Mm, you taste good,” Ratchet sighed as he drew off the spike and licked his lips. “All right, then. I'm  _ really _ wanting to re-enact that hallway scene right about now, so if you have any objections, voice them now. I don't even know how many overloads I went through with the both of you, but it was slagging  _ good, _ and I want that again. Blue's already agreed – providing you do, Prowl – and he's ready to go.”

“ _ So _ ready...” Bluestreak moaned as he nipped at Prowl's neck cabling. “But I can take care of myself if you don't want me.”

The black and white frame shuddered under the attention it was receiving. Prowl turned his head in a blind attempt to capture Bluestreak's mouth and got his neck instead. He flicked his tongue across fluid lines and cables, then nibbled and suckled on them until the gunner cried out and pulled away.

“I think that's a 'do want',” Ratchet said with a husky laugh. “Come here, Blue. Want you behind me again.”

The berth dipped slightly as the younger mech moved, settling between Prowl's parted legs.  The tactician felt his valve lubricating heavier, though he knew it wasn't going to be touched. At least, not this round. A hand closed about his spike, stroking it and spreading an artificial lube over the surface.

"I'm going to take Blue first, then you, Prowl. Wanna feel you stretch me like that this time." He shivered in anticipation. "Feels so good."

Prowl couldn't help but agree. Spiking Ratchet was always a great experience, but the feeling of his spike rubbing against another within the medic's valve was beyond description. He moaned in want, spike twitching, looking for a valve to be buried in.

  
A sharp intake of vents accompanied by dual cries told him that Bluestreak had found his way inside the medic. The berth shook as Blue slid in and out a few times, the wet sounds ringing in Prowl's audials and making him just that much harder. Then Ratchet was guiding his spike alongside the gunner's to press into him and Prowl was lost.


End file.
